


teach me that I'm alright

by freezerjerky



Series: it's coming into sight [2]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018), Recovery, Sexual Content, Trans Male Character, Trans Newton Geiszler, farming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 03:20:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17072531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freezerjerky/pseuds/freezerjerky
Summary: He presses a kiss to Newt's cheek. The kissing and casual intimacy with intent are still often jarring to Newt. Some mornings when he's still in bed, Hermann will come in for a goodbye kiss and Newt will think he's dreamt it up completely. On those days there are several small crises throughout the day that are only resolved when he hears the car on the gravel road, when Hermann greets him with as much affection as he used to say his goodbye that morning.in which Newt navigates the intimacy of a relationship





	teach me that I'm alright

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure anyone who writes knows what it's like to have an idea that will not leave your head even after it's written. This is one of those for me. Probably best to read the first in the series for context.
> 
> I continue to thank the wonderful Erica for the inspiration and encouragement for this series.
> 
> Title is from "Make Love to Me Forever" by Snow Patrol
> 
> The excessively talented Will created an art for this series, which you can find [here.](https://laurenftagnart.tumblr.com/post/180812424459/im-too-sleeby-heres-a-commission-what-i-finished#notes)

The summer inches on painstakingly slowly. When June slips by, the afternoons become too hot to be outside for long and Newt retreats to the cool of the house and his overhead fan. He sometimes will go for a swim, but algae blooms in the pond under the heat and Hermann always gives him such worrying looks when he attempts to swim. On afternoons when Hermann’s not around, he does it anyway.

There are precisely three days a week when Hermann is not home in the afternoon, when he goes into the city to work. On Wednesdays, Newt goes with him and finds ways to entertain himself during the hours he’s not with either Hermann or his therapist. Hermann’s given him information on volunteering at the aquarium several times but he always conveniently loses the flyers, forgets about calling or emailing. The truth is, the prospect of being in a building with a large amount of strangers terrifies Newt, no matter how interesting the rest of the opportunity sounds. Dr. Sutcliffe reminds Newt that recovery is about small steps, but Newt knows he hasn’t gotten any better with crowds in well over a year.

Every other Thursday, Hermann says he will be staying later in the city, but it doesn’t matter because he will always be home in time for dinner. Newt doesn’t ask why, he lets Hermann have the privacy of his own life, of his old life. Asking him to pack up and move to an isolated farmhouse is more than enough, Newt knows he’s asked for and received far more than he deserves. He knows it’s selfish that he doesn’t try to give anything that he’s received up.

It’s the second late Thursday and Newt’s trying to focus on his task at hand rather than watching the clock. He’s taken it upon himself to work on the shed for the chickens in the evening hours, to build them a more secure home. There’s also the secret aspiration of putting in a small stall, setting aside a place for a goat. He doesn’t want anything too complicated, but there’s no harm in expanding his small menagerie of animals.

The sound of tires rolling down the gravel road alert him to the presence of someone else and in his excitement, Newt hits his head on the shed door. He’s standing directly outside of the shed and rubbing the back of his head when Hermann approaches.

“It’s so damned hot,” Hermann says, instead of a proper hello. Despite the complaint, Hermann’s wearing trousers and a button-up shirt.

He presses a kiss to Newt's cheek. The kissing and casual intimacy with intent are still often jarring to Newt. Some mornings when he's still in bed, Hermann will come in for a goodbye kiss and Newt will think he's dreamt it up completely. On those days there are several small crises throughout the day that are only resolved when he hears the car on the gravel road, when Hermann greets him with as much affection as he used to say his goodbye that morning.

“I don't mind it once the sun goes down,” Newt observes. “How was work?”

“Very exhausting, darling. Have you started dinner yet or shall I?”

“I thought we could go into town, get some food at the diner.”

“All of my colleagues think you're trying to fatten me up.”

“Your stomach was concave, Hermann.”

Newt presses a hand to Hermann's stomach, resting it there. Hermann's hand seeks his own and he rubs his thumb along the back. He wants nothing more than to slide their hands lower, to follow that immediate spark of want in his lower belly. Newt doesn't dare.

“Give me a few minutes to change,” Hermann says, reluctantly pulling his hand away to step into the house. A few minutes is long enough for Newt to find a way to control the wanting that burns inside of him.

 

They don’t sleep close at night. This isn’t a conscious choice, or a preference, but a measure out of necessity because of the heat. The first few weeks, they held each other close to fall asleep, even if they’d wake up apart. Then one night, they’d both woken up uncomfortably sweaty and agreed to forgo the affection until the nights were cooler. Even with Hermann rolled on his side on the other side of the bed, Newt feels too warm tonight. He’s wearing just a pair of boxers and a threadbare shirt and he’s already sweating through the shirt despite the comforting thrum of the ceiling fan.

“You awake?” Newt asks dimly when Hermann shifts. There’s no answer.

Dinner went late and they didn’t return home until the time they’d normally climb into bed. Before bed, they engaged in what Hermann refers to, in his prudish ways, as heavy petting but it was far too hot to continue with Newt’s insistence that they keep their clothes on. Newt’s tempted to take off his shirt now, when it no longer has connotations associated with it, it’s not as though it would be the first time he’s slept shirtless in bed with Hermann. He doesn’t want to tease, though, or lead Hermann on.

Newt shifts slightly, moving to face away from Hermann.

“Newton?” comes the question, half slurred, behind him. “Nightmare?”

“No.” Newt shakes his head and immediately rolls to face his partner. “It’s too hot, I can’t sleep.”

“It is. Perhaps you could shower to lower your body temperature.”

“Effort.” He shuffles closer, presses a kiss to what he assumes is Hermann's mouth. The confirmation comes when Hermann kisses him back, hot and eager. It's a continuous surprise to him, how passionate Hermann is when stripped down to his base desires. Hermann has not gone over a decade without this like Newt has, but it's still been years. Or so Newt selfishly hopes.

He brings a hand to the back of Hermann's head as he kisses him, pulling him closer. One of Hermann's hands, so warm to the touch, rests on the soft swell of his lower stomach and slips down further in increments towards Newt's boxers. He gasps into Hermann's mouth when his hand slips into the boxers then farther down, cupping him so gently, so reverently. If he let Hermann take him apart like this, he'd probably beg to not be put back together, to be left in pieces.

When Hermann's fingers rub against him he moans, tightening the grip on his hair but it's too much. He's going to hurt Hermann, he's going to spiral in his desperation and lose control. Newt can't trust himself.

“Can you stop, please?” he asks, his voice small.

Hermann immediately withdraws his hand, moves it to Newt's stomach. This is their cycle every few days, an almost followed by a request followed by crippling guilt for Newt. He wants. He wants Hermann. He wants to convey how much he wants Hermann but every time they become too close to the real thing he's reminded of his hands around Hermann's neck.

“Do you want to talk about it, darling?” Hermann asks, low and tender. This is a change. Normally they'd resume kissing or go back to sleep.

“No. 'm fine. It's just not the right time yet. I'll get there.”

“You don't have to, if you don't want to.” Hermann presses a kiss to his chin but Newt doesn't know if this is intentional or if he'd aimed for his mouth and missed in the dark.

Newt feels his lip quiver and he feels like a child, immature and scared. How can he tell Hermann how much he wants him and then follow up with continuing to deny him? Eventually Hermann will think he's lying, leading him on to keep him around and Newt would do most anything to keep Hermann with him but not that. Only lovely and sweet things that they both agree to.

“Newton?” Hermann's hand is on his arm. The air in the room is oppressively hot.

“I'm sorry.”

“There's nothing to be sorry for, liebling. Try to sleep for a while, hmm?”

Newt doesn't sleep for a moment.

 

The next afternoon is so unbearably hot that even Hermann agrees to an afternoon dip in the pond. The spot closest to the dock is algae free but they'll still have to wash afterwards. Newt doesn't mind and he laughs at the way Hermann squirms when he slips into the water.

“Honey,” Newt laughs, holding out his hand, “babe, just come over here. It's clear over here.”

“Newton, I detest this pond and we should drain it, it's a hazard.”

“There's a water source feeding into it and all the algae's at the edges, you're being a big baby.”

“I am not being anything but careful. One of us has to be.”

“No one’s forcing you into the water.” Newt pulls him closer. Sometimes when he touches Hermann like this he has to take a moment to orient himself, to dispel his fear that this is all in his head.

“I'm keeping you company.” Hermann rests his hands on Newt's bare shoulders. “Did you put on sunscreen?”

“I'm in my forties,” Newt answers because it's easier than saying no.

“Brilliant observation, dearest,” Hermann teases and then he kisses him. It's soft and Hermann tastes a bit like the watermelon they had with lunch. “I love you.”

Newt feels himself start to blush, he usually does when Hermann says this. It feels forbidden, the ease with which it drips from Hermann's mouth. He's so free with these words, spilling them against Newt's mouth before they sleep or his forehead after Newt's therapy sessions. There's no reality where Newt can conceive of deserving this, even the man he was over a decade ago didn't deserve this.

Dr. Sutcliffe would say that it's not a matter of deserving. There's no need to justify why he has things that make him happy in his life. She'd also say that there's no reason why he doesn't deserve to be happy. He doubts this immensely but he'll take what he can get.

It takes a few moments too long to untangle his thoughts and Newt loses the chance to respond to Hermann's declaration. He'll have to be better about it next time.

“I love you too,” he mouths uselessly, as though it's lost its value because he's saying it late.

“You don't have to say it every time I do. I don't mind.”

“I want to say it so much more. I want to say it every time I open my mouth but I'm afraid I'll- I’m afraid you'll think I'm too much when you see how I feel.”

“Newton, I’m not afraid of your feelings for me, no matter how big or small they may be.”

Newt leans in, surges back towards Hermann to kiss him. He wraps his arms around him and pulls him in close. One day he'll tell Hermann how much he wants to drown but he's not sure if he means in the pond or his feelings or some mixture of both. Instead he does neither and holds onto Hermann as though his life depends on it.

“Darling, darling,” Hermann mutters against his mouth. “I’ve got you, but if you hold too tight, we will both topple over and drown.”

Hermann drowning? That’s the most awful thought of all, and the one thing Newt will never allow to happen, so he loosens his grip, even though it pains him to do so.

After their swim, they both lay under the shade of a nearby tree. Newt already sees a smattering of freckles and the first pink tinge of a sunburn on Hermann’s shoulders, despite Hermann’s warning about sunscreen. He wants to map each freckle with his fingers or his tongue (Newt’s not picky about this, he’ll take anything.) Idly he wonders if Hermann ever thinks thoughts like this about him. Objectively, he knows he must. While respectful of Newt’s boundaries, he’s made his desire well known with his eyes and his hands and his words.

Suddenly, he feels warm even under the shade, as he thinks about Hermann’s hands, how warm and gentle they felt on him last night. He stands, not forgetting to reach out a hand to Hermann to help him back to his feet.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working from home today?” Newt says, leaning forward to brush some grass off of Hermann’s chest.

“What they don’t know can’t hurt them, Newton. I can tell them my partner was ill.”

The word partner thrills Newt. It will likely never stop thrilling Newt. Partner implies something that seemed, until these past few weeks, so profoundly out of reach. He’s never been someone’s partner before, he’s been a boyfriend in the very juvenile sense but that was always short-lived. Partner implies that maybe, if he’s lucky, if he does what he needs to, Hermann will spend the rest of his life with him. They can spend the rest of their days swimming in the pond and their nights with the telescope, aiming at distant stars. Newt can feel, in these isolated moments that will make up the remainder of his life, that he is enough, that he is whole and undamaged. But should he feel this way? Should he be allowed to be untainted goods, experiencing his life, when he’s damaged so much, when the corruption rests at the root of him?

For the first time in weeks, he feels that familiar thrum through his body as though he’s itching to cut into something, to wreak some small destruction. Then Hermann reaches for his hand.

“Sorry,” Newt immediately says. “Got lost in my head for a moment there.”

“How fortunate that I found you.”

“You did.” Newt smiles at him and he knows it’s not a complete smile, that it’s missing some level of earnestness that Newt can’t exactly place. “You always find me.”

 

Purchasing the goat is somewhat of an accident. Newt’s driven into town for his weekly trip to the farmer’s market. Hermann asked him to pick up some honey and he needs sweet corn, since his small harvest has fallen prey to deer. Buying the farmhouse wasn’t exactly about him dreaming to be a farmer, but it seems to come with the territory. It’s all about doing what he can to keep his hands busy, after all.

At the market he starts to talk to a neighbor about his interest in owning a goat, and the neighbor shares that he’s got a milking goat he’s willing to sell. Newt can feel himself agreeing to buy the goat before he can even think of what he’s saying and then it’s too late. It’s the point of no return. He’d planned to make this smooth, to have everything ready by evening, but Hermann comes home to him lovingly wrangling the goat into her stall.

“Newton, dare I ask what you’ve done?” Hermann in fact, does dare to ask.

“It was a really good deal,” Newt remarks, even as he manhandles the goat away from himself. “At the market, and you know I’ve been talking about this for the past few weeks.”

“What are we going to do with a goat?”

Hermann’s standing in the doorway, looking both displeased and amused. Newt’s too preoccupied trying not to have his clothing eaten by a moody goat to notice for a few moments, but he dares to smile at him.

“You can milk this one, they showed me how, and then we can have the milk or make cheese or...whatever else you want to do.”

“I wish you’d consulted me first,” Hermann says, before turning to walk into the house.

He should have, Newt knows. This isn’t a Newt decision, this is a shared decision and he should have known this. There’s growing pains, he knows, in learning to live with someone after so long on his own, especially when Hermann often seems so uncharacteristically passive to his choices.

When he returns to the house, Hermann’s standing by the stove cooking something. Newt washes his hands thoroughly, with an obsessive need to make sure there’s not a speck of dirt on his hands or arms. It’s a stayover from his days in a lab, remembering at the last minute that he’s supposed to be making sure everything is sterile. He hates that word, even as he craves the cleanliness of it. There’s a lack of zest, of passion, that thing he craves so dearly.

“What’s for dinner, honey?” Newt asks, and he ventures wrapping his still partially wet arms around Hermann’s midsection. Hermann’s changed for the evening, wearing one of Newt’s t-shirts and a surprisingly worn looking pair of jeans. He’s barefoot already, which Newt has learned he prefers in the summertime. In the winter, Hermann will wear two layers of socks.

“Stir fry,” Hermann answers, glancing briefly over his shoulder at Newt. “Hopefully not burnt stir fry, but I offer no guarantees.”

“Smells good so far.” Newt kisses his shoulder before he steps away. He hates himself for letting this feel easy to him, for tricking himself into believing this is natural. Even if he’s going to have this life, he needs to remember this is an exception. This was not what was planned for him.

“Don’t be fooled.”

“I’m sorry about the- the goat.” Newt’s aware of how ridiculous it sounds, but it’s the truth.

“It’s fine, Newton.”

“You’re allowed to be mad at me, Hermann.” And in that moment, there’s nothing Newt wants more than for Hermann to be angry with him. He wants to shout at him, with him. He’s tired of this simmering, he wants to be burning with something.

“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to be mad at you?” Hermann puts down the spatula in his hand and turns to face him. “I want to be, but then I think about the fact that you were- there could have been no you, there almost was. And I can’t bring myself to be angry any longer.”

“Well, I’m mad at you,” Newt remarks, taking a firm step backwards.

“Why are you mad at me?”

“Because you keep treating me like I’m going to break!” he snaps. “Because I want you to be able to be angry, to shout at me if you need to.”

“That takes time darling-”

“Don’t darling me, Hermann.” He shakes his head. “I want you to let me break.” Newt’s not sure if this is a good idea or a bad one, but he’s tired of feeling like a delicate thing, like porcelain or the awful China he bought at a flea market last summer. He wants to be allowed to fall to pieces and he realizes, with astonishing clarity, that it’s not just Hermann who is preventing this from happening.

“Do you need space or-” Hermann starts to offer, but then he cuts him off.

“No, this is- that’s sort of exactly what I mean, you know?” Newt scrubs his hand down his face. “You’ve always got this exact perfect thing to say and I just want you to- I want you to be you. I want you to be frustrated with me, or upset, or- I want to feel something.”

Hermann’s face pales and Newt feels something twist deep in him. He’s a bad person for hurting Hermann, he thinks. Hermann’s just trying to help him.

“Do I not- do I not make you feel something, Newton?”

In the moment, he feels the full force of Hermann’s feelings for him and it’s too much. He feels like he’s going to drown, like he’s going to go under and become nothing under the force of these feelings. Two decades is far, far too long to be wanting someone like this. Newt has to blink at him a few times to collect his thoughts, to collect his feelings. And then he’s kissing Hermann, pushing him back against the counter, letting his cane clatter to the ground. He holds Hermann’s face in his hands as he kisses him, anchoring himself to the most precious thing, shivering at the touch when Hermann’s hands slide around his waist, down to cup the swell of his ass. A moan, soft and mewling, slips past his lips against Hermann’s mouth and he’s drowning again, but it feels different this time. He’s buoyed, there’s something that can and will hold him afloat, even if he tries to pull it down.

For once, the moment is ruined by something besides Newt’s hesitation as the smell of burning food quickly fills the room. They extract themselves from each other, albeit reluctantly, and Hermann does his best to save the stirfry from its demise. Newt begins to root through the freezer for something they can make quickly. Dinner ends up being a frozen pizza on the front porch.

“You didn’t answer my question earlier,” Hermann begins. They’re sitting side by side on the wooden chairs and Newt’s aware that he feels like half of an old married couple like this.

“What question?”

“If I make you feel something.”

“Dude, we made out right after that, I’d assumed that was enough of an answer.”

“Newton.”

“Hermann.”

“Just answer me,” Hermann says, staring ahead, refusing to turn and look at him. He looks so oddly young in the dim porchlight.

“I think you know that I need you, that I need someone,” Newt begins. “And I think you’re afraid that I’m lying about my feelings for you to keep you around. But I’m-” He bites his lip. “I’m afraid that you won’t leave me if you feel you need to because of my feelings for you, so I have a hard time talking about them sometimes.”

“I don’t think you’re lying,” Hermann defends.

“You make me feel a lot of things, Hermann. I don’t know if I’d be capable of feeling without you, but I’m sure you can already guess what Dr. Sutcliffe would say about that. I need to feel things for me, because of me.”

It’s quiet for a few prolonged moment, nothing but the distant sounds of the treeline, the hum of a summer evening in quiet motion. Newt finds this to be a more vibrant thrum than any city, than any great, swirling ocean, and it has the benefit of being free of both other people and monsters. Here, the only people and monsters can sit and have peace. He reaches for Hermann’s hand, even if it’s awkward and uncomfortable to sit like this.

“I don't want you to feel like I'm your only human connection, Newton. It's why I expressed hesitation to move here in the first place. You're isolating yourself.”

“I'm terrified of people. I'm terrified of being seen.”

“Seen as what?”

“What I really am.”

“Darling-”

“Don't. Stop saying soft things to me, stop trying to make me believe I'm good when I'm not. If you're going to be with me, you have to accept that I'm not going to be good just because you love me.”

He drops Hermann's hand then and stands, taking a step to the house, but instead he turns around, falls to his knees in front of Hermann's chair.

“I'm a bad man but please don't leave me now that you're here.”

Hermann's hand settles on the back of his head, running his fingers through his hair. It's a soothing gesture, set to tame either a beast or a child. At the moment Newt feels acutely like both as he presses his forehead against Hermann's thigh.

“You are a good man, Newton,” Hermann whispers. “But I don't love you because you're good. There are plenty of good men in this world. I love you because you're you and have loved you for twenty years for that precise reason and that reason alone.”

“Twenty years,” Newt all but wails it out against Hermann's leg. “We've wasted twenty years like this.”

“Dearest, please look up at me. It'll be alright. We have more than twenty years ahead of us.”

“You can't guarantee that and we'll- we'll be old and who knows if I'll ever let you touch me or if things will ever get easier for us or-”

“What we have right now is more than I could have ever asked for. I have a life with you.” He grips Newt's chin, angling his gaze upwards. “What can regret do for us when we have so much to look forward to?”

Newt stares up at Hermann, his buoy, his heart, and even in the darkness he knows his eyes are glassy and fearful. He's scaring Hermann, but Hermann's not afraid of him. Those are not the same thing.

“When did you get so good at emotions?” Newt asks, leveraging himself to rise to his feet.

“I don't think I'm particularly well versed in how to handle emotions, but thank you for the compliment.”

“I need a shower,” Newt remarks. “I smell like goat.”

Bending down, he kisses the top of Hermann's head.

 

When Hermann comes inside, Newt's staring blankly ahead as he sits on the couch. He's wrapped in a thin robe (Hermann's) and his hair is still wet.

“Darling, perhaps you should go to bed,” Hermann says softly on his way to the kitchen.

Newt rubs his eyes and waits for Hermann to reappear in the doorway. “I was waiting for you.”

“I know. I need to shower as well and then I'll be right there.”

“Hermann I-” He begins and then shakes his head, instead opting to stand and trudge to the bedroom.

In the room he slips on his boxers and out of the robe and situates himself under the covers, leaving only the light of Hermann's bedside lamp on. Rolling to his side, he listens closely to the sounds of the bathroom, the way Hermann hums under his breath as he showers and the charmingly vain whirr of the blow-dryer. These sounds are home to him, raw and familiar and the best sound of all is the content sigh as the bed dips beside him and Hermann settles down comfortably.

Hermann takes inventory of the things on his nightstand (glasses, pain pills, bottle of water, book) and switches off the light. Tonight must not be a reading night for him.

“Are you feeling better now?” Hermann asks. He's close enough that Newt can make out his expressions in the darkness when he looks at him over his shoulder.

“I'm feeling more relaxed.” His brain had been so loud out on the porch, but now it's down to the usual dull roar.

There's a hand on his back then, Hermann scratching- the most gentle and grounding scrape against his skin. He envies how easy touching is for Hermann. He hates all the ways it's hard for him to touch and be touched. He wants to be touched and to touch and that particular ache doesn't fade.

“I'm worried I'm going to lose control,” Newt adds, staring at the wall. “And I'm also afraid of giving someone else control. And those are sort of the same thing for me.” Hermann's hand stills on his back. “I lost control and something else took over and that something is- it's never going to fully leave me and I hate that but I'm living with that.”

The gentle touch resumes, sliding towards his lower back. “Is this about your life in general or intimacy?”

“Both.” Of course Hermann knows exactly where his mind is wandering.

“I'm assuming you've been talking to Dr. Sutcliffe about this.”

“A lot. Non-stop. I've been thinking about you non-stop so it comes up.”

“Shouldn't you be talking about yourself?”

“I don't see a substantial difference in the subjects.”

Carefully, Newt rolls around so he's facing Hermann, as much as he hates to lose the soothing touch on his back.

“I'm not the one who Dr. Sutcliffe is being paid to help.”

Newt laughs at that and presses a kiss to Hermann's mouth. It's one of those kisses that holds something more, the electric charge of a thunderstorm, but it hasn't rained in a long while and it won't rain for a few more days. He moves his hand to Hermann's chest, digging his fingers into the fabric of his soft cotton t-shirt.

“Newton,” Hermann murmurs softly against his mouth.

“Take this off. Please.”

“Newton,” Hermann repeats.

“I'm tired of waiting to touch you. I've been waiting twenty years and I can't wait anymore.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yeah dude- I'm- like you're going to stop if I ask you to stop. It's fine. We're going to be fine.”

For a moment Newt thinks Hermann's going to leave the bed and he feels panic rising to his sternum at the prospect of rejection. Then the bedside light switches on.

“I want to see you,” Hermann explains as he brings a hand to Newt's hair. “I've been waiting too and I need to see you.”

“I'm sorry you had to wait so long, Hermann. Fuck I- I fucked up real bad and I keep thinking that at least- we could have had at least a decade if I wasn't such a-”

“I'm making a new rule: no blaming yourself in this bed.” Hermann rubs his thumb against Newt's cheek.

“How are you planning on enforcing that rule?”

Hermann grins, backlit by the dim light, and kisses Newt hard. Newt reaches for him, remembers his request to remove his shirt and aids in the process, tugging at the hem of the shirt. They fumble together until it's off, leaving Hermann's hair sticking up in a few patches. Newt runs a hand down his chest to his stomach, touching the downy hair that trails down just below Hermann's belly button. It's light and only something a keen eye would notice easily, but Newt's eyes have been nothing but keen where Hermann is concerned.

They smile at each other for a moment, just the briefest moment, and then kiss again, harder than before. This is no different than other times, Newt thinks, they've taken things this far, followed their want. It's only a few steps farther, though.

“Boxers,” Hermann mumbles against his mouth, as though suddenly remembering something. “You need to take those off.”

Newt nods and lifts his hips so he can slide out of his boxers. He remembers then that it's been so long since he's been naked like this, in an intimate way, and not just incidentally. This is intentional, this is a sharing of bodies and something beyond both of them. He's going to share his body with Hermann, as is only right after he's shared his mind. But there's still there hesitation, the reflex to cover up and hide (Absurd, he thinks, Hermann's seen your stomach before and he's touched you. He knows what's in your pants.)

Grasping Newt's hand, Hermann drags it slowly away from where it's concealing, towards his mouth where he kisses across each knuckle.

“Gotta play fair, Herms. Let me see what you've been hiding underneath those awful pants.”

Hermann lays back so he can properly slide down his pajama bottoms, leaving them crumpled at the foot of the bed. Newt's nervous but it feels like a perfectly normal, human emotion. He's naked with the man he's in love with for the first time and he wants very much so to get this right.

“You're beautiful,” Newt says, all but draping himself across Hermann to kiss him again. “I love you.” Hermann is beautiful, from his pale skin to the shape of his knobby knee caps to the marred skin on his leg, old surgery scars and tales of the life he’s lived. Newt blushes at the sight of Hermann’s half hard cock, of something he’s thought about, conjectured about for so long.

“Can I see you, Newton? I was trying to see you.”

“Nothing much to see,” Newt deflects. “Standard parts.”

“The most handsome man I've ever seen,” Hermann answers resolutely. “The only man I've wanted this much.”

He rolls away, making a vague gesture to present himself to Hermann. Even with all the work he does, Newt's still soft around his middle, and his legs are paler than his freckled face and his hands. As a younger man he was confident that he was attractive enough but now he's become so distanced from the idea that it's hard to imagine anyone passing judgement on how he looks. But Hermann says he's handsome and Hermann wouldn't lie for flattery's sake.

Despite himself, he trembles when Hermann rests a hand on his lower stomach, when he slides it lower to cup his mound, settling his hand so perfectly that he’s framing Newt’s clit with two fingers.

“Is this alright?” Hermann asks, his voice a low rumble. Newt nods and spreads his legs further apart. He gasps and groans when the hand ventures further, when two long fingers slide inside of him. Hermann, in some capacity, is inside of him. There's no safer feeling in the world.

“I'm-” Newt begins, but words falter with the thrusting of fingers and the wet sounds. “I love you. I'm- Hermann, I'm sorry I keep making you wait.”

“Do you want to stop?” Hermann's already pulling his hand away, so Newt reaches for his wrist.

“No. Don't stop. I don't know what I'd do if you stopped now. Not that you can't! I don't want to pressure you into this! God- I'm such a mess.”

“Newton. I'm not going to stop.”

Instead of stopping, in fact, Hermann leans in to kiss him. He always knows just how to kiss him, making him feel boneless and cherished and safe. Newt feels so protected, even if he's reminded of how awkward it is to be human in these moments. He cups Hermann's cheek, rubbing gently against his cheek bone (his alarmingly perfect bone structure) even as they deepen the kiss. Even as each moment, each touch makes Newt feel needier than the moment before, the kiss remains soft and warm. His life preserver in the terrifying waters of his life.

There's the sharp reminder of the moment, of the reality of the situation, when he feels Hermann brush against his hip and he moans into that well loved mouth.

“Honey, I- would you want to-”

“Yes,” Hermann answers a bit too quickly as he pulls out his fingers. “Yes, of course.”

It's only then that he realizes that Hermann is trembling. Nerves, perhaps fear sweeping through him. Newt does the only thing he can do and presses his mouth against Hermann's.

“Herms, it's alright. I want this. I really, really want this.”

“I don't want to hurt you,” Hermann answers, pressing his face into the crook of Newt's neck.

Newt trails a hand gently down his back, skirting his fingers along the pale skin. No amount of afternoon swimming seems to impact his coloring, Hermann burns and then it fades to its usual pale shade.

“You're gonna do the opposite of hurt me. You're going to make me feel so good, babe. I'm tired of you going off to the shower and me-” He swallows hard. “Thinking of you so desperately on our bed all alone, wishing I was able to know what it’s like to touch you.” In a fit of bravery he grabs Hermann's ass, causing him to shift his hips delightfully.

Hermann pulls away to look okay him and they exchange a hesitant smile. This is not the first time he'd envisioned a decade prior, this is subdued and far more tender, he thinks, as Hermann shifts so he's situated between Newt's legs. Back then he'd thought tearing each other's clothes of with a sense of urgency was the most romantic possible thing. Newt was stupendously wrong.

For a moment, the first moment after Hermann's given himself a few quick strokes and started to push in, Newt feels as though he's dissociating, that this might be too much. But no, there's a hand reaching for his hand and he's still in his mind, he's still safe.

They stare at each other for a moment again, both breathless. Hermann's hair is already sticking to his forehead and Newt has to kiss him, has to have all of him. For the first time he's realizing that the threat was never dissolving into Hermann, but the other way around. The reality is that they're both their own men and will learn to share a heart, a soul, equitably.

When Hermann shifts, thrusts for the first time, Newt's brought back to the all too human reality of the act. He moans softly, finding the rhythm of how to move his own hips. This is not some profound act of beauty, Newt remembers, this is pleasure, the slide of two bodies together and the strange sounds and sensations that accompany that.

Except Hermann's burying his face against Newt's neck again, and Newt feels something wet against his skin.

“Honey, don't cry,” Newt says softly. “What's there to cry about? You're fucking the man you love, right?”

And Newt knows that's a foolish thing to say when Hermann goes still. That's exactly why he's crying, after all. Newt slowly wraps a leg around him, urges him forward to start moving again. Twenty years really is too long to wait.

The rhythm is uneven at first, the staccato stuttering of two bodies out of practice, but they find something that works as they hold each other close in the dim light. The headboard lightly thumps against the wall with each movement and each thrust is met with a pleased gasp spilling from Newt's mouth.

Newt turns towards Hermann and nuzzles his face against his head. He's got Hermann's hand in his, joined at the other side of his head.

“Babe, can you look at me, please?”

When Hermann turns his face, he's flushed and there's still the remnants of tears in his eyes but he's radiant. He looks like a man who's been just told he can have the whole world. It's an honor to be someone's whole world and the only thing Newt can do to show his appreciation is kiss him.

“It's alright,” Newt says against his mouth. He'd never imagined their first time would go like this, he imagined he'd be the one trembling. “Can you touch me, please?”

They have to shift positions in order got Hermann to move a hand between their bodies, using his thumb to tease at Newt's clit to bring him closer to bliss. It crescendos, the feeling inside, and Newt's gasps turn into huffs of air as he feels the tightness in his belly coil.

When Hermann leans down to kiss him again, it feels like the cathartic snapping of strings wound too tightly and Newt's outside of his body for a moment before he's too profoundly present. He unhooks his hand from Hermann's and runs them both along his shoulders and neck.

“Is it alright if I-” Hermann asks, ever polite. “Inside of you?”

“Yeah, almost be insulted if you didn't,” he teases. He thumbs at Hermann's cheek where there's still some wetness, wipes it away.

While out of practice, Newt still has some idea on how to move his hips, how to use his body for someone else's pleasure. Hermann's making soft grunts with each thrust now, little escalated noises with the hint of a whine and then, with a few hard thrusts, he's coming. The sound is awkward and human and Newt wants to keep it like his dearest secret.

Newt's acutely aware then of how warm the air is, how they're both sweaty and panting. Sex is not an act of elegant touching, but the friction of two bodies unafraid to share the unforgiving parts of themselves. Or, frankly, it's about feeling good.

“Are you alright?” Hermann asks, carefully rolling away from him.

“Yeah, I'm good. Super good.” Newt nods and turns to him. “You?”

“I must apologize for crying that was-”

“Intimate. Intense.” Newt fumbles for his hand and brings it to his mouth. “I felt a lot of things too. Mostly I'm just relieved we've finally done this. And happy.”

“Yes, I am happy as well.” Hermann's free hand rests on the swell of Newt's soft stomach as they both take a few more moments to collect their breath.

They take turns cleaning up afterwards and risk holding each other close. The heat of summer can be damned for all Newt cares.

 

As with most every morning, Newt wakes before it’s light. He sits up in bed and stretches, casting a glance over to Hermann’s probably sleeping form. There’s doubt that he’s even sleeping when he shifts just slightly closer. It’s too warm in the room for him to simply be chasing the warmth of the nearest body.

“Chickens?” Hermann mutters, confirming Newt’s suspicion.

“Yeah, the chickens.” Newt turns to smile at him. “I’ll be back in fifteen.”

“Stay.” He reaches out and places a hand on Newt’s thigh. “Come back to bed.”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“The chickens won’t care if you’re late today.”

“If you don’t get the eggs right away, they could peck into them and-”

“Spare me the details, Newton.” Hermann burrows his face into his pillow. “Please just stay in bed with me.”

Hermann asks so little of him, Newt realizes, there must be some importance for Newt to crawl back into bed. But if he starts now, this will become a habit.

“I’ll be back before you even realize.”

“Fifteen.”

Newt has to bite his lip to stop from smiling too broadly. He slips into the first clothes he finds and goes through his morning errands. He chats to the chickens as he searches for the eggs, telling them how lovely the are and how happy he is they’re in good spirits. Naturally, none of them have laid eggs that day. The goat demands feed that morning and he gives her some gentle pats with a promise of returning later.

When he returns to the house he hesitates on stripping back down out of his clothes, but Hermann sits up in bed to give him a bleary eyed look. The sun is starting to stream into the room properly and he’s overcome with the urge to follow the rays of sun as they streak across Hermann’s skin.

“Go back to sleep, Herms.” He pulls off his shirt and tosses it aside, strips quickly before he moves back to the bed.

“Work,” Hermann mumbles, moving in closer.

“Hmm, I think you’re debating taking a sick day today,” Newt suggests. “You had a very late night and you’re feeling a bit feverish.”

“Feverish?”

“Afraid so.”

Newt presses a kiss to his mouth, then his chin. He follows the light on Hermann’s skin, because he wants to, because it’s beautiful, because he can.

 

Time’s slipped past him and Newt doesn’t realize it’s after eight. He’s been working on the porch railing, a project he’d started the year before and wants to finish before summer slips away. The air’s started to pick up a chill at night and Hermann complains about the cold and wears socks around the house. It’s only when he stops to glance at the time that he realizes it’s late for Hermann to come home.

It’s Thursday, he knows this. One of Hermann’s late Thursdays, but it’s later than usual. He stands stock still, stares out at the driveway to will him home, but the cat rubs against his legs and startles him. Objectively, he knows Hermann’s going to come home any moment now. Instead, he’s focusing on how he felt the day his father was in a car accident and missed picking him up from school. He’s reverted to a younger and more vulnerable self. The prospect that something has occurred, that today Hermann won’t come home, makes him wish the world would swallow him whole.

The plan was always to buy the farmhouse, to keep himself isolated from the world at large, but that wasn’t ever going to happen. Not while Hermann still lived and breathed and loved him. (And he’s been loving him so well, hasn’t he?) Newt doesn’t want to be isolated, he doesn’t want to be closed off. He’s opened his heart and home and arms to another person and in time he’ll open his life to others again, but he wants this. He wants just this man in his heart and home.

Newt settles on the porch steps as he waits, trying not to dwell on the negative, trying not to think about the prospect of Hermann not coming home. But he feels that darkness in him, the voice that reminds him that no matter what he does, one day one of them won’t come home. Nothing, not even love, can fight this, but it can delay it, and it can give Newt continued happiness.

He’s just buried his face in his hands when he hears the car in the driveway. It only takes a few moments for him to rush forward, to meet Hermann as he steps out of the car and wrap his arms around him.

“I’m sorry I was late,” Hermann mutters against his shoulder. “Traffic-”

“I know, I figured, I assumed. I was still worried.”

Hermann pats back with his free hand. “I’m home now, and I don’t work tomorrow, so you’ve got me for a long while.”

“Where do you go?” Newt asks, and it’s the first time he’s bothered. He’s always wanted to let Hermann know he’s free to live his life as he chooses.

“Can we go inside before we talk about this?” Hermann pulls away, rubbing Newt’s forearm gently.

“Is something wrong?” He freezes where he’s standing. “Have I-”

Panic fills Newt and he can’t move from where he’s standing. Has he misunderstood their relationship all this time? Is there someone else, something else? Oh, he doesn’t want to keep Hermann from being happy but he doesn’t want to lose him. He can’t bear the thought of losing him right now. Newt won’t die without him, and he knows he’ll keep going on, but there will be a hollowness that he can’t come back from. How does he even begin to articulate that?

“Everything’s fine, Newton.”

If everything’s fine, why does he feel like his heart’s about to fall out of his chest? But he listens, he follows Hermann into the house and sits patiently at the kitchen table as Hermann makes a kettle of tea. He runs his fingers along the grain of the table, impressed with how flat the surface is. He’s done this, with his own hands, Newt the creator. He’s fought against the natural urge he feels too acutely to destroy.

Hermann settles across from him at the table, sliding Newt a mug of chamomile. In the morning, Hermann drinks Earl grey or something stronger, but any time after lunch it’s always herbal tea. For Hermann’s birthday, Newt planted Hermann a herb garden to grow his own tea, but it was too late in the year to have a good crop. He’ll have to try again next year.

“Every other Thursday I leave work early and go to therapy,” Hermann explains, taking his first sip of tea even though it’s too hot.

“Oh.” Of course he does, Newt’s never pretended that Hermann didn’t have his own doubts or insecurities or fears to talk about. Still, something in him sinks, drowns in the feelings he’s been keeping at bay. He feels his lip quiver.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want to burden you with that information yet. I didn’t want you to-” Hermann slides a hand towards Newt, takes Newt’s hand in his own. “I didn’t want you to think I was going because of you.”

“But you are,” Newt answers plainly, and doesn’t meet his eye. He’s dragging Hermann down, he’s brought Hermann to this godforsaken place ot keep him away from the other people he cares about. He’s selfish, he’s a bastard. What has he done, with his fine ideas about making Hermann happy?

“No, Newton. I won’t lie and say it’s not because of what happened to you, but that’s not you. It’s not who you are.”

“I’m sorry I’ve dragged you into this, Herms. I dragged you into everything and I should have just left you alone I should have just-”

“Stop, you stop.” Hermann shakes his head. “I don’t appreciate you talking like this, as though I’m not a willing party in my own relationship. I knew damn well what I was signing up for every step of the way and I love you. Don’t you understand how lucky we are?”

“Lucky?” Newt snorts. “Lucky how exactly?”

“Because I thought I’d lost you. For a decade I’d lost you. I didn’t just think I did, I did. If things hadn’t worked out the way they did…”

“I’d have ended the world and none of this would have mattered.”

“They would have ended the world, not you.”

Newt swallows hard. “They were me, and I was them. And I’m going to cope with that for the rest of my life.”

“And I’ll be here to help.” Hermann slides a second hand to Newt’s. “Can I tell you about therapy?”

“Yeah, of course.” Newt nods and uses the back of his free hand to wipe his eyes.

They’re both silent for a moment as Hermann rubs the back of Newt’s hand. “When you moved on your own, I started going to a support group for people whose partners had gone through a traumatic experience. It was important to me to know how to support you, but I discovered that a lot of the focus was on...my own mental health.”

“I wasn’t your partner then,” Newt responds, of course latching onto all the wrong things.

“We both know that’s only technically untrue.” Hermann offers him a smile. “Some of the people in the support group recommended me a therapist and I started going. I’d assumed it was a short-term thing and it would end at any time, that I simply wouldn’t have to tell you.”

Newt sets his jaw firmly, pulls his hand away from Hermann's. “I can’t make you happy.”

“What are you on about?”

“No matter what I do, I can’t make you happy. I’ve made you move out here to be with me, I’ve dragged you down with my- with my everything, and nothing I do will make you happy.”

“Are you trying to break up with me?” Hermann asks, fearful.

The panic feels like a knife in Newt’s stomach, cold and horrifying. “No. That’s not it.”

“Because I think there's a part of you, and I don't know how large that part is, that wants me to leave you.”

In that moment Newt feels exposed, more exposed than he did as he shook with withdrawals from a decade of kaiju brain drift, or as he saw his name and his work condemned by the world at large, or as he laid himself bare in front of Hermann for the first time and let him take what he wanted. Hermann's not been in his head for a long time but in a way, Hermann's never left it.

“I don't want you to leave me,” Newt says, frantically reaching for Hermann's hand, nearly toppling his chair as he slides closer. “I don't. I want you to stay. I want to spend my life with you, that's the only thing I've ever wanted since I met you.” A beat. “But I don't want you to want to spend your life with me. And that's what you've chosen, so if you're going to waste your life on me, I could at least try to make you happy, but I can't even do that right.”

He's bought this home, he's redone it for them, to give them a place to be happy and God why is it so hard to grasp that happiness is not a state of being? It's a futile emotion, as weak as any other feeling that clenches in his chest.

“Do you have any idea how happy I am, Newton? Have you bothered to ask? How glad I feel every morning when you come back to bed after feeding those blasted chickens? How for the first time I have someone I love to come home to every damn night of my life? And that it gets to be you- a man I'd tear myself to pieces for, a man I've been willing to move mountains for, a man I've swam in frankly repulsive ponds with. You don't get to tell me how happy I am or am not. That's not fair to me or to you.”

Hermann, Newt realizes, is angry with him. Displeased, and he's not shouting but he could if Newt pushed his buttons. Newt does not want to push his buttons, so instead he stands and lets Hermann wrap his arms around him. He feels content with Hermann's cheek pressed to his torso. His hand slides through Hermann’s hair, the faintest loop of curls around his hairline.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Newt whispers.

“If I left you, it would take a long time for me to be happy again, and it would never happen in the same way.”

“I understand. I get it. I feel the same.” Newt slides his hand down, rubs at Hermann’s shoulder. “I’m very glad you’re talking to someone about...everything. But you can talk to me, too. We’re in this together, right?”

“You’re correct, Newton.” Hermann glances up at him. “Perhaps we could talk more over dinner.”

“I didn’t make dinner tonight.”

“The diner’s open twenty four hours, isn’t it?”

“Can we take the motorcycle?” Newt asks, giving Hermann a squeeze.

“I suppose this once.”

“The air’s not too cold yet, but if you get chilly I can warm you up when we get back.”

“Under the blankets?”

Newt pulls away, just far enough to help Hermann to his feet. “Under the blankets. I’ll even close the door so the cat can’t get in.”

“I like the cat sleeping in our bed.”

Rather than answer, Newt wraps his arms around Hermann and pulls him in for a kiss. As long as Hermann’s sleeping in his bed with him, he honestly doesn’t care.

 

The cat’s been meowing at the screen door to go outside, but it’s too late to chase him around the yard to take him back inside. Newt knows that he only wants to lavish love upon Hermann and chase after bugs, but they’ll be inside before long themselves. Autumn has all but officially come, and there’s too much of a chill to be out for long. Hermann’s wearing one of Newt’s flannels with a turtleneck underneath for good measure. Newt’s sleeves are still rolled up, though.

The air’s lost its summertime stillness and Newt feels oddly young in a way he hasn’t in a long while. Since he was actually young.

“I think there’s another storm left this season,” Newt remarks at the distant sound of what he thinks is thunder.

They’re trying to look at the stars, but the view has become too murky, too cloudy to see. Newt’s not sure if he cares very much to see these distant, dead things. Not on a night like tonight when Hermann’s got his hands in his pockets for warmth and the faint sound of a favorite song plays from his phone on the kitchen table. Hermann’s learned to trust him with the telescope, or learned that he’d rather focus his attention on the shell of Newt’s ear. Either way, he’s not complaining.

“I suppose,” Hermann begins, “we out to pack up, get inside where it’s warm.”

“We have had the front door open, you know. It’s probably a bit cold in there.”

“Nothing a cup of tea and a quilt can’t fix.”

Hermann slips his hand out of Newt’s pocket and steps away as Newt takes a final glance up through the telescope. The sky is obstructed and he’s free from the judgment of the stars. Newt does not think he loves the stars or any other part of the night sky, though they’ve become a part of him the way anything else so ever present is. He’s become indifferent, but he’s learned from them immensely. He knows that dead things can seem alive again, or that human beings are not the same as stars. He knows that stars don’t even really rank in the things that Hermann loves most, despite his concern over the telescope or his desire for Newt to learn the constellations. If prompted, Newt could sit down and write a list of the things Hermann loves most in the world. He could write a matching list of his own great loves but it would only be one item long and painfully transparent.

His reverie is broken by Hermann nuzzling against his neck. There’s the faintest tickle of stubble, though Hermann can’t grow a beard to save his life.

“You wanna head inside for the night? I think Bertrand misses you.”

“I think it's for the best,” Hermann answers, stifling a yawn. “I'll put the kettle on while you put the telescope away.”

In that moment, Hermann's stepped into the glow of the doorway and he's the most radiant thing of all, a star still burning, a light that does not dim with the end of the night or the end of the summer. Newt steps forward and kisses him, first the corner of his mouth and then his wonderful mouth. It's been some time since he feels like he's drowning when kissing, but Newt thinks he might be floating. For a moment he's transcending like all of the finest things in the universe. And then there's a hand on his wrist, a gentler hand tracing along his callused finger and palm.

“Hermann,” Newt all but sighs against his mouth.

“We can leave the telescope here and skip the tea,” Hermann responds, lacing their fingers together before he steals a last lingering kiss.

They step into the house together, the door clattering firmly shut behind them. This is what it means to have a home.  


**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @ pendragoff and twitter @ newtguzzler


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